


Orpheus Ascending

by Brenda



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe, DCU, Justice League (2017), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Banter, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Flirty Bruce Wayne, Flustered Clark Kent, Kissing, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Post-Justice League (2017), SO MUCH BANTER, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: "You are my all-the-world, and I must strive, to know my shames and praises from your tongue," Bruce drawled, his gaze dropping again to Clark's lips, and the sound of Bruce –Batman– quoting Shakespeare was so unexpected that it finished the job of bringing Clark out of his haze."Are you...are you seriously trying to seduce me with poetry?" he asked, amused now, and (if he was completely honest) more than a little turned on at the thought.Or: Clark and Bruce fake-flirt (but not really) for a case.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 31
Kudos: 247
Collections: Fifth DCEU Fanworks Exchange





	Orpheus Ascending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mashimero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mashimero/gifts).



> Mashimero, I'm sorry I couldn't work in any porn for this one, but I hope you enjoy a ridiculous amount of banter and literary references and fake-but-not-quite flirting and a wee bit of suit kink thrown in for good measure. :D

Clark gave the passing server his empty wine glass, and settled himself along the far wall to wait for Bruce. He hadn't particularly wanted the wine – it wasn't like he could get drunk, and the selection their host had chosen was an insult to anyone with half a palate, let alone someone with his enhanced senses – but he was flying under the radar tonight and wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible. His suit of choice for the evening, a bland brown no one would notice, was just as pedestrian as the wine. The cut was boxy, slightly big in the shoulders and thighs. Not as ill-fitting as his typical Clark Kent fare, but certainly nothing that would draw attention to his frame. 

Bruce hadn't given a time frame for his arrival, and Clark had already made the rounds twice, keeping his quarry in his line of sight at all times. He could circle the room again, but he was wary of making himself _too_ visible. He toyed with the idea of trying to chat with some of the other party-goers, but this wasn't his crowd or his scene, and he had no idea what they'd even have to talk about.

Instead, he busied himself by going over possible exit strategies should he be called upon as Superman, and mentally tallying all of the different – and horrendous – design choices that had gone into the ballroom. Diana's understated elegance and love of clean lines were clearly rubbing off on him, because every time he looked around, he shuddered over some new atrocity. There didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason or thought put into any part of it, from the haphazard number of alcoves and dividing walls to the oppressively drab wallpaper and heavily masculine chairs and side tables. At least the cheerful flower arrangements kept the room from looking too funereal, although that wasn't saying much.

He was so busy cataloging every awful detail to regale Diana with later that he was genuinely startled when Bruce materialized, as if by magic, at his side. Bruce, in contrast to Clark, was dressed in an immaculately tailored light grey suit offset by a crisp white shirt and an elegantly knotted maroon tie and pocket square to match. His tan brogues were polished to a dull sheen, and his cufflinks and tie pin were 24-carat gold. Clark didn't need to see a label to know Bruce's outfit cost more than twice Clark's rent.

So much for keeping a low profile, Clark thought. Although, given that this was Bruce in his public persona, it had probably been too much to ask.

Before Clark could so much as summon a greeting, Bruce stalked forward, flashing him an unexpectedly predatory smile, and didn't stop until he had Clark crowded against one of the alcoves. "Hi there," Bruce murmured, amused, sibilant, and wholly unlike the authoritative deep tone Clark was used to. "You got a name, gorgeous?"

A _name_? What the hell was Bruce talking about? "Uh, Bruce – ow!" he cried, when Bruce chose that moment to turn, placing his hands at either side of Clark's head as he rammed his thigh _just_ against Clark's groin.

"You don't _know_ me here," Bruce hissed, sub-vocal, but to Clark it might as well have been a shout. Inwardly, he cursed himself for forgetting that Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent were not, in fact, friends and colleagues. Out in the world, they were strangers who moved in different spheres. And out in the world, Bruce had a very different sort of reputation to maintain.

"Right, uh," Clark stammered, nodding to show he understood. "Right."

Bruce pasted that laconic smile back on his face. "Well? Are you going to make me beg for it?" he asked, eyeing Clark like he was dessert and Bruce was starving. Clark had no idea how that look managed to be both lecherous and charming at the same time.

Beg for it? Beg for... "Oh, my name!" Clark exclaimed, relieved that he was finally catching on to what Bruce was doing. There were quite a few people milling around them, after all. And even though Clark knew they _could_ have an entire conversation without being overheard, it was smart to disguise this meeting as something else entirely. 

He offered what he hoped was a hesitant, but not uninterested, smile in return. Wary of Bruce Wayne's intentions, but certainly willing to be convinced. "It's, uh, Clark...Kent." 

"Clark Kent," Bruce repeated, like he was savoring the sound of it on his tongue.

"We've met before," Clark said, shifting a little so he could look Bruce in the eye without craning his neck. He didn't think he'd ever get used to how much _space_ Bruce took up, even when he was acting the part of the playboy.

"Well, _now_ I'm sorry I don't remember it," Bruce replied, as he raked a heated leer up and down Clark's body. "Let's make this meeting more memorable, shall we?" 

And, before Clark could ask what he meant, Bruce leaned in and pressed his lips against Clark's. 

" _Bruce_ ," he breathed against Bruce's mouth, unsure if it was a warning or a question, but then the kiss softened, and Clark forgot whatever he'd been about to say. All of his senses narrowed to where they were connected. The air crackled and hummed between them, vibrant and alive, as Clark made a sound that was muffled by Bruce angling his head, taking the kiss even deeper. Clark's mouth and tongue were on delicious fire, sparks sizzling outward, zipping along his skin. And the fire spread throughout his body in shimmering waves of heat, had him moaning when Bruce scraped teeth along his lower lip and moaning again as Bruce's solid bulk pressed against him.

Clark wondered if Bruce could use that strength to try to hold him down, and it was the memory of the _last_ time Bruce had done exactly that which finally snapped him back into reality. He pulled away, the motion slight, but Bruce took the hint and lifted his head.

His gaze, contemplative and piercing, held none of his usual insouciance. In fact, Clark couldn't read Bruce at all in that moment. It was more than a little unnerving.

"Uh..." Abruptly, he realized he had a death grip on Bruce's lapels. He dropped his hands as if scalded, but didn't move otherwise. His lips were still buzzing, and his glasses were fogged up. He couldn't figure out where to put his hands, or if his legs would even hold him if he moved away from the comforting support of the wall. 

"Just a few more minutes," Bruce muttered, turning so his lips brushed the shell of Clark's ear; to anyone watching, it must have looked like Bruce was whispering something seductive or highly outrageous or both. 

Clark nodded to show he understood. He had no idea what he looked like, although he was certain he was blushing to the roots of his hair. "That was...uh...well." He cleared his throat, and tried again. He was definitely going to be reliving the sensation of Bruce's tongue sliding against his own for a very long time. "You certainly do know how to make a person feel wanted."

" _You are my all-the-world, and I must strive, to know my shames and praises from your tongue_ ," Bruce drawled, his gaze dropping again to Clark's lips, and the sound of Bruce – _Batman_ – quoting Shakespeare was so unexpected that it finished the job of bringing Clark out of his haze.

"Are you...are you seriously trying to seduce me with poetry?" he asked, amused now, and (if he was completely honest) more than a little turned on at the thought.

Bruce shrugged, and brushed a kiss to the corner of Clark's mouth. "Some part of my overpriced education had to stick," he said, and grinned again, this time mischievous. "Why, is it working?"

Clark glanced around the room, and saw they were still drawing a certain amount of attention – most of the looks were indulgent, with a few titters over Bruce's outrageous behavior, and there were also the requisite frowns and scowls and mutterings about Bruce continuing to sully his family's good name. But no one was questioning why they were together in the first place, and if this had been Bruce's intention all along (and Clark suspected it had been), he'd aced it. 

He patted Bruce's tie, giving him a sunny smile. "We don't know each other, remember," he gently chided, pleased at seeing Bruce's ever-so-slight eye roll. _That_ was his Bruce – only, not _his_ Bruce, he didn't...he wasn't...well, anyway, it didn't matter. They were back on even footing now.

Clark very deliberately didn't think about why that thought disappointed him.

Bruce gave him another searching look, but then obligingly moved so they had a small bit of breathing room between them. "So, what you're saying is, if I want to romance you, I need to take you out someplace far more intimate than a stuffy ballroom at a boring fundraiser," he said, with a sweeping gesture toward their surroundings.

Clark's eyes widened behind his glasses. " _Romance_ me?" he asked, possibly a little too breathless for the situation.

Bruce arched a perfectly aristocratic eyebrow. "Are you saying you don't deserve romance?"

Clark allowed his lips to curve in a tiny smile. Flirtatious Bruce – even if it was just for show, it was still a heady, heady thing to be on the receiving end of it. "And how would that look?" 

Bruce snagged two glasses from a passing server, and pressed one into Clark's hand. Then he took a sip and grimaced. (Clark could sympathize.)

"Well, for one, I would offer you something to drink that's much more palatable than the swill our host is trying to pass off as _Fiano_." The word was accompanied by an exaggerated shudder. "What's the point of a fundraiser if not to drink good wine and gossip about people you don't like?"

"The part where you raise funds for charities, I assume." 

"Don't tell me you're one of _those_." Bruce made a moue of distaste. "One can be in support of – what are we supporting tonight again?"

"Cancer research," Clark supplied, catching the way the couple near them shook their heads at Bruce's insensitivity. He wondered if they knew about all of the charities Bruce's various foundations supported, and then wondered why he even cared what they thought. He knew the truth about Bruce, even if they didn't.

"Right," Bruce said, regal and bored, and honestly, Clark was amazed at his acting talent. "As I was saying, one can be in favor of cancer research and still expect a decent bar. Instead, here I am, sipping on swill that tastes like sawdust. The only bright spot in this hell I find myself in is the thought of you as my Orpheus, leading me out."

Clark chuckled. In or out of the Batsuit, Bruce had a flair for the dramatic. "I highly doubt you'd want me trying to lure you away with my lute," he said. "My singing voice is...lackluster, at best."

Bruce straightened and glanced at Clark, giving him a lascivious look. "I bet I could get you to sing for me, and _very_ sweetly, too."

His tone made it clear exactly what sort of singing he meant.

Clark could feel himself blushing again. He was also enjoying himself far more than he'd thought he would. "It sounds so filthy when you say it like that."

"Filthy in the best possible way, I hope." Then, Bruce gestured in an expansive manner to the room around them, and cozied in next to Clark like he was planting a flag and declaring to one and all that he wasn't to be moved or disturbed. "So tell me why I'm here," he added, quietly.

Clark glanced around and saw they were finally alone – well, as alone as they were going to get in a ballroom full of people. He nodded his head in the direction of the table directly opposite their position. "Do you recognize that man?"

Bruce turned his head, now all business, his sharp gaze missing nothing. "Thomas Infante, CEO of Dante Gaming."

"You know him?"

"We've met in passing a few times. Our gaming division tried to buy him out once," Bruce replied, and clinked his full glass to Clark's in a mock toast. Neither drank. "I take it you've been doing some digging into him."

Clark nodded. "What about his date? Do you recognize her?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, and I'd remember her if I had," he said. "Women who look like that are meant to be noticed."

"Which is exactly why Mr. Infante almost never lets her out in public."

" _Lets_ her?" Bruce pursed his lips. "I don't remember him being married."

"She's his half-sister." 

Bruce's eyes widened a fraction before he nodded. " _He grasps at ill-got gain, and lays an impious hand on holiest things_."

It took Clark a second to catch the reference. "Oedipus?"

"Nice to see they still teach the classics in the Midwest."

Clark lightly elbowed Bruce in the ribs. "Don't be a snob."

Bruce held a hand to his heart. "But, love, that's all I'm good at," he replied, with a quick wink. Then he sobered, and looked at the couple again. "Tell me why they're on your radar." 

"Nora – the sister – is somewhat of an accounting prodigy. She also used to date one Alexander Luthor," Clark added.

Bruce hummed. "You think she's helping funnel his money?"

"She's covered her tracks extremely well, but something's off with one of the company's subsidiary accounts," Clark said. "And I don't have the resources to dig further."

"Alright, I'll look into it." Then Bruce neatly plucked Clark's glass out of his hand and set it, and his own, aside. "In the meantime, you owe me a proper drink in a proper bar. With a _proper_ wine list."

"I can't afford your idea of proper," Clark told him, as he pushed his glasses up with a finger.

Bruce shrugged. "Who said anything about you paying?"

Clark simply gestured for Bruce to precede him. If Bruce wanted to continue to spend time together this evening, Clark would be a fool to object. "Alright, Eurydice, let's make our escape before anyone tries to drag you off."

Bruce made a show of clasping Clark's hand in his and leaning into him, his look blatantly flirtatious. "Shouldn't it be you in front, if we're reenacting Orpheus' Ascent?" he asked.

The words were out before Clark could catch himself. "I would be, if I thought you trusted me enough to follow me."

Bruce stopped. His look now was serious – far too serious for his public persona, but he didn't seem to care. "I trust you, Clark Kent," he said softly, his meaning unmistakable. 

Clark's breath caught; he found himself swaying towards Bruce before he realized what he was doing. "I'll remember that," Clark replied, just as quiet.

Bruce leaned in again, and this time, his kiss was nothing more than a light brush of lips. Yet the shock of it still reverberated through Clark like a shot. "See that you do."

Then he squeezed Clark's hand, and tilted his head towards the door. "Shall we?"

Clark was only too happy to lead the way.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [Susiecarter](https://susiecarter.tumblr.com) for the last minute beta!!!! Any remaining mistakes are solely on me.


End file.
